


The Art of Losing

by VanillaMostly



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-03-28
Updated: 2011-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanillaMostly/pseuds/VanillaMostly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even losing you (the joking voice, the gesture of love) I shan't have lied. -Elizabeth Bishop</p><p>It's a special day for George Weasley. [Spoilers]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Losing

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or this lovely poem.  
> Couldn't help it, this poem just makes me think of them. sniff.

\---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture  
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident  
the art of losing's not too hard to master  
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

-Elizabeth Bishop

~~~~~

 

 

 

 

 **The Art of Losing**

 

 

George woke up feeling strange. He flipped over and saw the empty side of his bed, and remembered what day it was.

Downstairs, his wife was clacking and banging the pans as she made him his favorite, blueberry pancakes. Even with magic, Angelina had a hard time making food without making a racket.

George closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep. He couldn't remember his dream, but it might have had to do with a monkey.

All of a sudden something cold and slimy fell on his neck and began crawling.

George screamed. No, he did not scream. He man-shouted.

A pair of familiar blue eyes greeted him, twinkling beneath floppy carrot-top hair. "HAPPY APRIL FOOLS'!!!!" came the victorious whoop from the mouth grinning into freckly cheeks.

George sucked in his breath.

"I win!" The owner of the blue eyes spun around and began dancing in his pajama pants that were already too short for him.

The spell was broken, and George could not speak.

"Haha, I got you, I got you good!" cheered the boy. He shoved in George's face the cold and slimy things - gummy worms given an Engorgement Charm and attached to strings, now George could see. He vaguely recalled Hermione giving him a bag during a visit. "For Muggle snacks they're really very good, you know, chewy but not as sugary as Chocolate Frogs."

The boy was jumping on George's bed now, waving the worms in the air like a deformed, sloppy sword. "You shoulda seen your face!"

George could not speak.

Slowly, carefully, the boy let the gigantic worms drop onto the bed with a soft thud. They slipped off the pillow and drooped onto the carpet wearily, but the boy didn't notice.

"Are you mad at me, Daddy?"

George turned away, but the little boy was too fast for him. He reached out a small finger and wiped away the tear on George's cheek.

"No, I'm not," said George quietly. He looked back into the familiar blue eyes, thinking of another person who, years and years ago, had shouted the same words ("HAPPY APRIL FOOLS'!!") and danced the same dance as George sat mute and sulky, undeniably one-upped. "I couldn't be mad at you, Freddie."

It was his first birthday in ten years that George did not feel quite so lonely.


End file.
